THIS well-known, self-denying, and much-respected servant of Jesus
Christ, sunk at last to rest on Thursday evening, 9th July, 1891, in the
77th year of his age. He had been confined to bed for some months; but when
I saw him on the Saturday before his death, he was bright and cheerful, and
full of gratitude to the friends who had been so kind to him. Shortly after,
congestion of the lungs set in, and after a brief period of unconsciousness
he passed away. Mr Sherriff came to Girvan about 36 years ago, as agent of
the West Coast Mission; and when that Mission gave up the station, the
people of Girvan adopted him as their Town Missionary, in which capacity he
has served them ever since. He had originally been a shoemaker in Carnoustie,
Forfarshire, then a teacher in a country school, and finally
a lay missionary among the poor. This latter work engaged his whole
sympathies, and, I daresay, he would not have exchanged his position for the
highest on earth.

So far as moral influence goes, it is always character that tells in the
long run; and Mr Sherriffs character was a tower of strength to him.
Everybody respected him, gentle and simple. His preaching might not be of
the brightest, but his life added weight to his words; for his conduct was a
living sermon of the truths he taught.

He had wonderful patience with the ungrateful and the undeserving, and
could forgive until seventy times seven. One cause of his patience was his
hopefulness. He never despaired of the worst. Sometimes, it is true, he
would grow despondent, and ask me—"Did you ever know a man who had
wrought so long in a place with such poor results?' I told him, of
course, that every earnest worker had the same question to ask, from Isaiah
downwards ; and quoted the saying of John Knox in his old days—"I'm grown
weary of the world as the world is of me." But he at once looked up and
said—"

But I am not in the least weary of my work, dear; I could go on
with that cheerfully as long as God wishes me."

The first feature of Mr Sherriff's character that struck those who knew
him was his piety. He was eminently a God-fearing man. In all places,
and under all circumstances, he remembered God, and was not ashamed to own
Him. In voting for a minister, he said he always voted for the one who
seemed converted. Before going to speak to a hard case, he would drop into a
neighbour's house and ask wisdom in prayer to be enabled to speak the right
word. In thanking me for some service I had rendered him, he said he did not
know how to express his gratitude to God and me.

Perhaps the next feature that shone brightest in his character was his
kindheartedness. A tale of distress at once melted him, and he would
give away his last farthing. The money he was intrusted with to give to
needful cases was always changed into threepenny pieces, and given away in
that form. When I first took a number of the Poor on a Jaunt to Girvan, he
came and addressed them, and gave each a penny by way of a keepsake. And he
repeated this "keepsake" at our visit this year. A Maybole weaver, now dead,
told me that many years ago, he had gone to Girvan seeking work, but found
none. He was sitting in a lodging-house, having just enough to pay for his
bed, when Mr Sherriff came in, and, learning the circumstances, gave him
threepence to pay for his breakfast, being all he had in his pocket. After a
few minutes, he came back again with twopence extra, which he had
just discovered in another pocket.

Another outstanding feature in Mr SherrifTs character was his
simplicity. He was transparently honest—"an Israelite indeed, in whom
there was no guile." He was often deceived, but that circumstance never
soured him. He went on to the end, hoping the best. Still, conjoined with
this simplicity, there was a deal of Scotch shrewdness. I remember him
telling me that he once drew up a list of some thirty death-bed conversions
which he had confidence in. These people afterwards recovered, but one by
one they all went back to their old ways, until he was left with only one,
of whose stability he was beginning to have grave doubts. His conclusion
was—"You can't tell when a man is converted. The man himself may be
deceived. The only proof is continuance in well-doing."

A feature in Mr SherrifTs character that was plain to everybody was his
faithfulness. He lived entirely for his work. How to get those
meetings of his kept up was his great thought. No stress of weather, no
scantiness in the attendance, ever daunted him. Not even was family
affliction allowed to interfere with his public duties. When his wife lay
dead in his house, he went on with his meetings in the country as usual.
For, as a priest in the old times was forbidden to show any sign of
mourning, so the work of God must be carried on by the minister, no matter
how sore his heart may be within.

His preaching was entirely Scriptural, and his infallible model was
Spurgeon. In fact, the Bible and Spurgeon were, latterly at least, his sole
mental food. Occasionally, however, when addressing a meeting of the young,
he would blossom into allegory, or relate an anecdote of his youthful days,
in which there would be a dash of quiet east-country humour. One of his
parables, relating to the tragic fate of one of his pet rabbits, I append to
this notice.

His plans of working included visiting (distinguishing, as he always did
in his Reports, between short visits and long ones)—Tract distribution, and
the loan of Spurgeon*s Sermons—Bible classes—with Prayer meetings on Sundays
and week-nights, both in town and country. At one time, he opened a free
evening school for reading and writing, and, latterly, he superintended a
Home for poor Christians, which was supported by voluntary contributions. He
also took a deep interest in Temperance work in the town and was never weary
inveighing against what he called "the three poisons—Whisky,
Tobacco, and Tea." Sunday and Saturday, wet and dry, late and early, he
went about the discharge of his duties, and his health kept wonderfully
good, and his spirits buoyant to the last.

He was somewhat old-fashioned in his views, and not easily turned out of
his way. But nobody thought of quarrelling with one who was so manifestly
sincere and well-meaning. Once, when lamenting his want of success, I asked
him—"Did you ever pray, Mr Sherriff, for a little originality?" He
smiled, and said he had never thought of that. But I don't think his heart
would have gone along with that prayer; for he was intensely conservative,
and liked to keep by the old paths, and even the old ruts. The only original
practice he had was to go through the streets ringing a small bell, and
reading out certain .verses of Scripture. And I once gladdened his heart by
telling him of certain good effects from this practice that had come under
my notice.

It would hardly be fair, perhaps, to judge of our Missionary by an
intellectual standard. He knew his Bible well, but he had little other
learning. In fact, he had little taste for other learning. One
consequence of this was that his preaching was apt to become monotonous. He
kept rigidly to the fundamentals, and never wearied going over the common
evangelical round. But his earnestness of manner, his simplicity of life,
his faithfulness to duty, and his overflowing kindliness of heart, made
people think little of his intellectual deficiencies, and see only a man who
put his religion into practice every day, and every hour of the day.

He had his own share of life's troubles. His wife, who predeceased him by
six years, became blind before her death. His brother, too, became
paralytic, and was cast upon his care. One by one his other relatives died,
leaving him at the last a lonely, childless man. But he was humble, happy,
and sweet-tempered; and I think every earthly desire he had was granted to
him before he died. He was full of gratitude to the many friends God had
raised up around him. What he was to the poor of Girvan, the poor themselves
will know more fully now that he is gone; while as to the town at large, it
is something to have had a man living for over thirty years in their midst
whom everybody recognised as a sincere Christian and a worthy, useful man.
Girvan gave him honourable burial; and when we left him in the Doune
Cemetery, I could not but repeat over his grave.—"Here lies a good man;
simple-minded, kindly-hearted, single-eyed, who served his generation
faithfully by the will of God, and died leaving neither an enemy nor a wrong
behind him.'"

THE PET RABBIT.

Children, I will tell you a story about a little rabbit I once had. It
had a nice house all to itself, with plenty of clover and green kail, not to
speak of porridge and milk in the morning, with carrots and other dainties
occasionally. And this little rabbit had not only a house, but a place to
run about in, with ten wooden spars nailed across it, to keep the
cats out, which you know was very necessary. But the poor silly rabbit did
not understand this, and thought that the spars were put there merely to
prevent it from getting out into the garden, which lay temptingly in view.
And so one night it set to work, and scraped and bit its way through one of
the spars, and was found lying outside next morning, killed by a cat.

Now, children, this story is a parable. You are the little rabbit, and
God has placed you in this beautiful world; but there is an enemy abroad,
and so, to keep you safe, He has set up ten commandments, which He
warns you not to break, else the devil will be upon you. But many children
are as senseless as the rabbit, and imagine that these commandments are not
there for keeping the enemy out

but for keeping them in; and
so they break through the spars of safety, and find themselves in the power
of the enemy.

But I need not blame children alone; for all the people in the world have
broken out of the house God has provided for them. I look
abroad and see these on every side. For what are drunkards, thieves, and
sinners of every kind, but poor senseless rabbits, who have escaped out of
their hutch by breaking through the spars? They wished to be free, and this
is their end.

I did not come in time to save my little rabbit's life; but our Master
has come to save us, and His warning to each of us this day is—Beware
of breaking through the spars. Surely if the little rabbit had been
saved out of the claws of the cat, it would never have sought to get out
again. I do not know about that. But I know that many men and women, as well
as boys and girls, never learn that lesson. Children, give heed to those
words of Scripture:—"This is the love of God, that we keep His commandments:
and His commandments are not grievous."

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